


26 December 1170

by Fabrisse



Category: Murder in the Cathedral - Eliot
Genre: Blank Verse, Gen, playing with history, sermon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-07
Updated: 2015-11-07
Packaged: 2018-04-30 12:08:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5163284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fabrisse/pseuds/Fabrisse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thomas Becket does not give the usual Christmastide sermon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	26 December 1170

**Author's Note:**

  * For [republic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/republic/gifts).



_Becket knew his king had not forgiven him, nor had he forgotten the plan to strip the monasteries and convents of their wealth to pay for the frivolities of the court. The readings he used in today's sermon were not the usual ones for the first day after Christmas, but he'd prayed, as Christ had at Gethsemane, and found that these words needed to be spoken and heard throughout Britain._

The joy of Christmastide be with you all.  
In this time of peace, we remember  
Our Lord's birth, but I want to speak of his life,  
Of Jesus' words and wisdom, his teachings.  
Through this we shall learn together by His  
Example our duties to our sovereign.

Only three times did our Lord speak of money  
And the duty owed to Caesars and Kings.  
Two parables further tell us stories  
Of thrift, wisdom, and service due to God.

The widow's mite, small, mean, not even worth  
The price of a dove to make sacrifice,  
Showed that all must give what they have on this earth  
To be recognized, nay welcomed, in Heaven.

Our Lord was asked about Roman taxes,  
For we all know that taxes abide  
With us as closely as the promises   
of paradise in the life to come,  
He asked for a coin, asked the visage  
Minted on the face of it, awaited  
The answer of Caesar, no matter the  
True name, Augustus, Tiberias,  
Caesar, leader of Empire, who claimed he  
Was a god walking the earth, ruler  
Of vast dominions, though we know even  
He, a king, will come to dust until time  
Ends and the trumpet calls all who dwelt here  
To rise and be judged, that name was given.  
And Jesus spoke, "Render unto Caesar  
That which belongs to Caesar his coins are  
His alone."  
But, He also said  
"Render unto God, our Father, the gifts  
Of your soul, the tithes from your fields, the best  
Of your labor, for prayers and sacrifice  
Due to the Almighty, our Creator."  
These offerings are to help the poor, hungry,  
Those severed from the blessings of the earth.  
They warm the cold, comfort the sick, offer  
Physic to both body and soul before death.  
We owe taxes to our King, thanks for his  
Protection and strength, his mind, soul, body  
All belong to his people, just as we   
Belong to our king and bow to his wisdom.

In his parables, Christ described  
Seven wise and seven foolish virgins  
Awaiting the bridegroom. The foolish sleep. Lamps blown  
Out by the wind while they surfeit on slumber.  
The wise virgins keep vigil, trim the wicks,   
Refill the oil. Their flames burn brightly, shine  
Across the fields, beckoning the bridegroom  
To the warmth of his rooms, the heat of his  
Bridal bed, the blushes of his new bride.

It is too easy for us to fall asleep.  
If we forget to keep the lamps burning,  
We need to pray for forgiveness,  
Atone by sharing our lot with those lock'd  
Away from the world, eyes turned heavenward,  
Comtemplating the beauty of God, Christ,  
Breathing the wisdom of the Holy Ghost.  
In times of plague or famine, when the world  
Falls fallow and fear rules us all, these our   
Brothers and Sisters in Christ succor all.

Our monasteries and our convents, too,  
Illustrate the parable of the talents.  
Like the King, they are the wise stewards  
Who do not bury their talents to keep  
Them safe, but invest that they may grow in  
Abundance, allowing enough to be shared.  
The King's talents are outward: protection,  
War, treaties, peace, kindness to those who most   
Deserve mercy and swift, sure justice for  
All who turn their backs on the laws of man.  
The King cannot try a violator of   
God's laws. Canon law is decided by  
Canon courts, the abbot of the order,  
Or by the most holy Pope, the ultimate  
Leader of the Church, my brother bishop.

It is the last of our stories of Jesus  
Which is most important today, his wrath,  
Fierce and implacable, toward defilers  
Of the temple, the moneychangers who  
Changed his father's house into a marketplace.  
After his triumph, crowds singing, chanting   
Hosanna to David's son, it was right   
That he visit the temple, leading his  
Disciples to the place where God should be  
Closest to man, his creation. The prayers  
Rise up, the veil separating heaven  
And the angels from all earthly cares  
Is thin there. His magnificent presence  
Surrounds all who enter in reverence.  
Yet the moneychangers, who take Caesar's  
Gelt and transform it to temple coins,  
Hawk their services; the farmers who   
Raise animals for sacrifice, cry out  
Their wares, voices jangling and disturbing  
The hush of contemplation.

It was right that Christ whipped them away.  
Defiling the Lord's temple, or convent,  
Monastery, cathedral, or church is  
Not to be borne.

The gentlest example is Zaccheus,  
Whose story is found in Matthew's gospel.   
He was humble enough to hide himself  
In a tree to listen to Jesus' words.  
He was humble enough to hear and know  
He had wronged those from whom he'd taken more  
Than they owed to Rome and profited himself.  
If you take, you must return twice over  
To him you have wronged, so says the law.   
But Zaccheus promised twice that, to clear  
The debt not just with man, but with God.

Any person, be he priest or merchant,  
Soldier, journeyman, beggar, or even king,  
Who takes from God to give coin to Caesar  
Must indeed repay, either in this life  
Or in the next, not just twice or thrice, but  
Four times over. Purgatory will last  
Four times as long, should the debt await  
Repayment until after death. The grave   
Will not open for judgement until all  
Is made right in God's sight.

My children, I know you have given your  
Widow's mite to the church, that you flinch  
At the thought of moneychangers crying  
Out for usury in the temple of God.

You, my brothers and sisters in orders,  
Invest your talents for the profit of   
The Master, doubling their number and so  
Are called good and faithful servants in Christ.  
You are wise virgins, keeping the wicks trimmed,  
The oil filled, so that the bridegroom may come  
Home to warmth and solace

In our Holy Easter week, we will all   
Remember Christ entering his city  
Triumphant, yet He also abased himself  
Before his disciples, washing their feet  
As He will clean our sins away. That week  
Is when He gives us the gift of his most  
Precious body and blood in bread and wine  
And in torment on the cross so all may rise.

Now Christ is merely a babe nursed by Mary,  
Protected by Joseph from Herod's men,  
Venerated by the Angels of God.  
In the week to come, kings will kneel before  
His majesty, offering precious gifts.  
This baby, weak as any child among  
us today, will one day become a man,  
Baptised by John, recognized by God  
As His true son through the Holy Ghost.

We trust that good King Henry, second of   
That name and his lady Queen Eleanor,  
Whose Amazons helped conquer Jerusalem,  
Will remain good and faithful rulers, strong  
To our enemies, yet humble in Christ.

_Beckett called the faithful, to bow their heads in prayer for the forgiveness of God and His blessings on their king and his kingdom._

***   
_Henry heard reports. Becket, once his friend, continued to defy him, despite Henry's mercy in allowing him to return to England. He ate his Christmas feasts thinking all the while of his old friend, and the words he spoke, the clear attack on his plan to use the monasteries to fund the kingdom._

_When supper ended, Henry called his closest knights to him, and they drank burned and sweetened brandywine. In his cups he said, "What miserable drones and traitors have I nourished and brought up in my household, who let their lord be treated with such shameful contempt by a low-born cleric?"_

_Four knights stayed after the King took his leave and, after discussing his words, left the following day for Canterbury._

**Author's Note:**

> The translation of Henry's words is from Simon Schama's _History of Britain_ and is a translation from a biography by Becket's contemporary, Edward Grim. 
> 
> I liked it better than the usual "Who shall rid me of this troublesome priest?"


End file.
